The Trap
by Claire5
Summary: Mulder tells Scully what happened to him after a disastrous bank robbery. Lot of Angst. *Chapters 12 is up!!*
1. Default Chapter

Title : The Trap  
Author: Claire   
E-mail : spookyeldarion@club-internet.fr  
Rating: PG-13  
Classification: Angst/Action  
Spoilers: None than I can think of  
Summary: Mulder tells Scully what happened to him after a disastrous bank robbery. Lot of   
Angst.   
Disclaimer : Not mine, go ask CC if you want them...  
  
Author's Note: My first attempt at writing a long story... I already know what I would like to   
write and how the story will evolve, but all your possible remarks and comments will change   
my point of view. The rating (PG-13) doesn't have to be taken in consideration yet... I'll   
warn you when it'll get bloody... ;)  
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I woke up with a start, still frightened from the nightmare I'd just had. I know I'm   
gonna be alright though, and I smile despite the terrible screams that I can still hear ringing in   
my ears; because the very person who terrified me in my sleep with those yells is right next to   
me, his arms lazily wrapped around me.  
I can feel warmth radiating from him; I can touch his hand, gently resting on my hip; I can   
hear him babbling funny incoherencies in his sleep; and I can still taste him on my lips.  
  
I feel free. It's been two weeks now, and for the first time since he came back, I have the   
impression that all the things we've been through, especially him, will stop hurting us.  
His scars and bruises will always remind us of what took place, and I know we'll still cry   
about it sometimes but now, the time has come when we have to live. I need it, and Mulder   
needs it, more than anything else in the world.  
  
As I watch him sleep, and witness that all worry has escaped from his face along with the dark   
bruises on his cheeks, eyelids and neck; I wonder if it really happened: if he really suffered,   
cried, ached, screamed and prayed for death to take him in that room.  
But his words are rooted in my mind forever, and they will never let me go, just as I will   
never let him go: not after that, never.  
  
I remember when he wouldn't talk about it, I really felt for sometime that I would never   
know, that he would never tell me and that he was lost to me forever. I begged, I cried, I bent   
on my knees for him to confide in me.   
He finally did, but he needed time. Time to clear his mind, time to take a deep breath, and to   
realize that he was indeed not dead; even if I know he wished he was during those five   
horrible days.  
  
Sometimes, I just have to stop myself from thinking about what happened: it's unbearably   
painful. It makes me want to yell at God's face, for the evil he unleashed, the evil embodied   
by those men.  
Those men. If I ever find you I'll make you scream, as loud as Mulder did. But beware if he   
finds you first: you wouldn't have time to utter a single word.  
  
He still can't sleep on his back, that's why he's facing me.  
When he told me everything, he was even closer than that, holding my head in his hands:   
because he knew I would crumble, and I did. I felt my own heart stopping, my own mind   
almost breaking the thin line of sanity, my own soul dying.  
But he was there, drying my eyes from burning tears, while his were almost drowned in a pool   
of love, mixed with compassion and pain.  
  
I was the one crying and suffering...whereas he had to live it. I felt miserable because of my   
behaviour, but he understood, and he was there right along with me.  
Every single word he said in his deep, no longer broken voice, had the power of thousands of   
needles in my heart, although the only thing I could think about was how to get any closer to   
him.  
  
"I love you Scully..." he said first "...and because of that, or maybe thanks to that, I know   
that you want me to tell you everything. I wish I didn't have to, but not telling you would be   
like living a lie. I can't lie to you - just as I can't just erase all that from my mind, from my   
eidetic memory. I never meant to hurt you, I never meant to crush your soul, but what I'm   
about to tell you is going to be hard. Harder for you than for me, because I've already been   
through it all: I simply lived and then plainly told it to all the people who needed to know it. I   
don't know if you need to know it, and perhaps you'll think I'm selfish, but what I do know is   
that I need you to know it."  
  
He then paused, and looked deep into my eyes, searching for a kind of answer. I nodded,   
trying to imagine the worst he could possibly tell me: it was worse even than that in the end.   
He smiled sadly, understanding that I had asked him to carry on, and started: "It all began   
with the three letters...  
TO BE CONTINUED  
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So?????? You wanna know what those mysterious three letters are?? And what exactly   
happened to Mulder?? Well, you'll discover it in the next chapters, that I'm writing as fast as   
possible!!!!!!!!  
All reviews are welcomed!! 


	2. The First Letter

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THREE WEEKS BEFORE  
Monday morning...Mulder was late. But placing "Mulder", "Monday" and "late" in a   
same sentence was not a unique idea because Mulder was late every Monday morning.  
  
When he opened the basement's door, I smiled. We had agreed not to arrive together on   
Mondays, because gossip would soon have overwhelmed us in the corridors. Not that there   
wasn't any already, but we weren't stupid to the point of giving everybody what they were   
waiting for... In fact it was a kind of game: we played with what the other agents were   
thinking about us.  
Every time we had the occasion, we stole a fragment of a conversation about our "more than   
partners kind of" relationship, and when we exchanged what we learned every night in my   
apartment or his, we would burst out laughing.  
  
He looked at me, furrowing his brow, and I had to admit that he looked cute with his messy   
hair, already rumpled suit, and pouting lips.   
I then realized the second reason for our agreement about Monday mornings: we would   
BOTH arrive late if we were together, but for a different reason...  
I smiled again and Mulder gave me a look that probably said something like "I thought I was   
the nut case...".  
  
Anyway, I finally managed to clear my throat and greet him.  
"Good Morning."  
"Morning..." he answered, still looking at me as if I had just said that I was in love with   
Frohicke, or something... I cleared my mind of that strange picture and went back to work on   
my computer.  
"Are you the one who put this letter on my desk?" he asked, showing me a plain white   
envelope, with only his name typed on it.  
"Hmm...no. It was there when I arrived."  
"Weird... How did it get on my desk?" he sounded surprised, I was not.  
"Well, maybe you forgot to lock the door on Friday, or perhaps someone had the keys."  
"No. I changed the locks last month..."  
"...like you do every six months, you're right, I forgot about that."  
Mulder was paranoid to the point of changing the basement's locks regularly, of course it was   
the Gunmen idea.  
"Anyway..." I said approaching his desk "...what's the letter about?"  
"I don't know."   
He looked quite puzzled, and was probably wondering what was the best thing to do. Opening   
it or giving it to the labs so that it could be analyzed?  
  
He chewed on his lower lip, and after an uneasy silence between us, he said:  
"It doesn't look very dangerous to me...it's just a letter."  
"You can't be sure of that...it could be anything: Anthrax..." I tried to point out   
unsuccessfully.  
"Right, but it is more likely to be a kind of joke; don't you think? If you give this to the lab,   
and it turns out to be nothing we would look pretty pathetic."  
"You mean...it's possible that we could look even MORE pathetic?!" I answered, faking   
shock.  
"Ha, ha. Oh...the Hell with it."  
With that, he opened the envelope. There was a single sheet of white paper inside, with a   
single sentence built with letters cut from magazines and newspapers.  
  
"YOUR FATHER WILL BURN IN HELL FOREVER"  
  
We stayed quiet for a few minutes, trying to make sense of it.  
"If it's a joke, it's not funny." He finally said blankly.  
"Yeah... But are you sure this is a joke?" I was starting to feel pretty uncomfortable.  
"Come on, Scully...my father is dead. It's been a while, now."  
"Well, it doesn't change anything..."  
"No, it does. Why did they put WILL? It doesn't make any sense! But for them it does,   
and I have to find out why..."  
"We should take it to the lab, maybe they could find something..."  
"No, Scully. This is a personal business. It has nothing to do with the Bureau..."  
"If it is THAT personal...why is it here? Why not in your mailbox at home?"  
"I don't know..." He sounded honest, but he kept on chewing on his lower lip, which was not   
a very good sign coming from Mulder: it meant he was thinking very hard. And when Agent   
Fox Mulder was thinking very hard, you'd better run and hide before he screamed "Eureka!".  
  
I was still standing in front of him when, turning his back to me, he said:  
"I have to make a few phone-calls...why don't you, hum, correct that report we have to give   
Skinner this afternoon?"  
"Okay...no problem." I knew it was pointless trying to ask him what he was going to do   
about this letter and who he wanted to call and so I simply went back toward my own desk.  
  
I was startled by Mulder's actions, because he was taking this letter very seriously. I was of   
course as puzzled as he was about it, but his worry and uneasiness were scaring me a little.  
For me it was just a stupid letter sent by a sick bastard who wanted to make him feel guilty   
about his father's death.   
Well, if THAT was their aim, they succeeded for sure! But Mulder was not stupid, and I was   
surprised that he was sure the letter was not a fake.  
  
Something was going on, something he didn't want to talk about...  
TO BE CONTINUED  
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Well?? You want more?? No problem... But first, tell me what you think about this story. 


	3. The Second Letter

THE SECOND LETTER  
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Scully finally went home, but not before asking me to call her when I arrived at my   
apartment. I don't even know if I will leave the office, I have too much to do: or more   
precisely, I have too much to think about.  
I know she is worried about me, about my reaction toward this letter, and I can't blame her!   
After all, I'm worried too...but not for the same reasons. The letter itself was not really the   
main problem, I mean...it's not the first time that I have been sent something like this: doing   
a job like this means meeting strange people every day, and risking the possibility that they   
could invade your personal life.  
  
The main problem, for me, was the writer...   
I had been spied on for all my time here in the Bureau, and maybe even before. But this letter   
felt like a big punch in the stomach, as if it was a kind of alarm, here to remind me that no one   
was spared, even someone like me who had hardly any close relatives. Almost everyone was   
either dead, absent, missing or...whatever. But they still managed to get back to me, they   
could even go through death.  
  
I know that more letters are to be expected: they can create new rules, but they can't erase the   
most crucial one: if you have his attention, don't let it go.  
And they HAVE my attention! I can't help but wondering what the next letter will be like,   
what will it be about?  
  
There is no point at reading those words again and again - I know them by heart. I can't get   
any useful information from the letter itself...no prints, no hair...  
The Gunmen told me from the photocopy I sent them that the letters had been cut from The   
Washington Post, USA Today and Newsweek: there was clearly no lead in that direction.  
  
A noise from outside startled me. Wow...it's already eleven. I should probably go home and   
try to get some rest.   
No, in fact, what I really want to do is run. It will help clear my mind a bit, and I will be able   
to think more fluently after it, without any harsh cuts caused by my sometimes-a-bit-too-crazy   
thoughts.   
Anyway, I have a pair of sweatpants and running shoes in the trunk of my car, so let's just   
grab them and get a bit of fresh air outside. Well...as fresh as D.C. air could be!  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
It's one o'clock, I'm finally home, and I can barely walk.   
I didn't realize that I had ran so far, and then I had to re-run all the way back to my car!   
But I feel good...a hot shower and then I hope that I will soon crash on my bed, and sleep a   
dreamless night.  
  
Of course, slumber never got to me. I lay there, lying on my couch, unable to move a muscle   
for my legs just refuse to obey my commands.  
I'm wondering if I should call Scully: she asked me too, but it's very late, and I don't want to   
wake her up if she's asleep.   
I miss her presence, I wish she was lying right next to me, and that I could watch her sleep:   
it's so peaceful. She caught me one our two times doing it, but the only thing she did was   
smiling, and asking me why I didn't slept. "I AM sleeping..." I answered her.  
  
I can finally feel my body relaxing, and slowly, very slowly I drift of...  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
TUESDAY MORNING  
When I arrived in the office, Scully was already there.  
She wasn't even trying to fake working on something; she was sitting at her desk, ready to   
jump, with a look of worry on her face.  
I could see that she didn't sleep any better than me, and that the letter had bothered her too in   
her restful night.  
  
When I saw the plain envelope with my name typed on it waiting for me on my desk, I didn't   
even flinch.  
I was prepared for this: she wasn't. That's why she looked so anxious...  
"Well, Scully...it's not going to bite us!" I was trying to cool off the heavy atmosphere  
  
I have no choice but to open it, now...there's no turning back.  
I look at her, straight in the eyes; she understands and comes to stand right next to me. I   
needed her to be as close to me as possible...because as much as I was prepared, I was still   
apprehensive.  
Come on Mulder... I told myself ...take a deep breath and just tear the...  
  
"YOU ARE PROTECTED BY YOUR FATHER   
BUT WILL YOU PROTECT HIM?"  
  
I read it just once, but Scully had to look at it more closely, as if it would change a damn   
word.  
I sat down heavily on my chair, put my hands in my hair and closed my eyes.  
First, I was just worried about the writer, but now...the text itself was beginning to   
dangerously torture my mind.  
TO BE CONTINUED  
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Hey, so what did you think of this one? Are you able to wait for the next chapter or are you   
planning on killing me??? Let me know! 


	4. The Third Letter

THE THIRD LETTER  
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I was watching Mulder closely from my desk, expecting a reaction from him.  
But none came. He was still sitting on his chair, his hands now resting flat on the table.  
He didn't seem *very* surprised about the letter, as if he knew that it would come.   
  
I wish he would speak to me...he hasn't said a word since he opened the damn envelope. I   
don't want him to put up walls around him, so that nothing can reach him. He can't behave   
like that - I am here!  
My last sentence was not screamed aloud as I hoped it had been, but he raised his head and   
looked toward me.  
  
His eyes scared me: they were kind of empty, reflecting nothing...as if everything had been   
drained from them.  
  
I sighed deeply, knowing perfectly well that if I didn't start to speak, we would still be here   
sharing this awkward silence at midnight...  
  
"Mulder?"   
  
He stared at me intently, something flickering in his eyes. They seemed to beg me to say   
something, anything, as if I had the power to give the right answer to any question, and that I   
could resolve any problem and make things right.   
I was hurt and sad, and I wanted to cry right now just watching his eyes, because I couldn't do   
any of that...and because Mulder thought for a second that I could.  
But I had to be the strong one in this, so I spoke again in a lower voice.  
  
"You knew there were going to be more letters, didn't you?"  
  
He lowered his head again, and answered without looking at me:  
  
"Yes. I expected more...and I thought I was ready for them."  
  
"But you're not." I finished for him.  
  
He nodded, and gave me a half smile.  
  
"I'm sorry about yesterday...it was late when I arrived home, and I didn't want to wake you   
up by calling you."  
  
I wasn't expecting him to apologize, or to bring this up. But maybe he was just trying to   
change the subject of our current conversation about the letters and avoiding my questions.  
"You should have called...I was worried. And anyway, I couldn't sleep."  
  
I stared at him too, so that he had no choice but to meet my eyes.  
  
"I missed you... I missed you talking nonsense in your sleep and taking all the covers."  
  
I had a big list about all the things I'd missed last night, but I didn't think it was the best   
moment to talk about it.   
We've never really brought up the subject about living together seriously...well, apart from   
the fact that we would go mad being constantly around each other it could be nice...  
  
"I missed you too..." He answered honestly.  
  
I knew he must have the same kind of list about all the things he missed about me not being   
with him for the night, but he couldn't say them aloud yet. He felt really uncomfortable, and it   
saddened me, but I couldn't blame him. After all, Mulder *was* uncomfortable about almost   
everything too personal: the letters were a good example about his awkwardness, he wouldn't   
speak about it.  
  
"Come on, Mulder... We can't work right now - it's impossible. Let's give this report to   
Skinner and head home, we both need some rest and staying here won't change a thing."  
  
I was glad to see that he agreed, and he didn't say a word before we arrived at the parking lot.  
When I saw him reaching for his car keys, I stopped his arm and asked:  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
He looked at me, perplexed, and answered.  
  
"I...hum, going home? Aren't you going to do the same?"  
  
I smiled, and took his hand in mine.  
  
"Well, not exactly. I *am* going home, but not alone."  
  
"Scully..."  
  
"No, Mulder. I'm not leaving you alone tonight, you're coming with me whether you like it or   
not!"  
  
He smiled at my last sentence, and we *both* headed home.  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
I was glad to find Mulder lying right next to me the following morning.   
He probably had come to bed very late, because I couldn't remember him entering my   
bedroom last night. I had left him sitting on my couch after his refusal to go to sleep. He had   
said that he needed time alone to think, as if he wasn't already doing it all the time, and I had   
preferred to let him be.  
  
But he had apparently made up his mind, and decided to get some sleep.  
  
He was facing me now, still fast asleep. His mouth was slightly open and his brow frowned.  
Only Mulder could look as if he was still thinking hard in his sleep, but that was probably   
what he was doing.  
  
He scares me sometimes, thinking so much...and I know that he'd scared and still scares a lot   
of people in the Bureau by doing so. It must be one of the many reasons why they gave him   
that strange nickname.  
  
"Spooky..." I murmured aloud.  
  
He opened his eyes and, when I saw that sparks were finally shining in them again, I smiled   
deeply and hugged him.  
  
I could feel him smiling near my neck, and I heard him saying in his creepy morning voice:  
  
"Gee, Scully... Why do you have to call me that when I wake up? It sounded like a bad   
dream..."  
  
"Bad dream, huh?" I answered, moving away from his embrace so that I could look into his   
eyes.  
  
He smiled again and, with a lopsided grin, got up from the bed.  
  
"What time did you get to bed?" I asked him, doing the same.  
  
"You mean, at what time did I *crash* on your bed?"  
  
"Yeah Mulder, whatever..."  
  
"When I stopped being able to think straight...around four I'd say."  
  
I nodded, wondering how he could manage to look so cheerful after three hours sleep.  
  
"I'm going to make some coffee, why don't you take a shower?"  
  
He looked maliciously at me, and I spoke before he could add anything that he would regret:  
  
"And no, Mulder...we don't have time so hurry up!"  
  
He smiled despite my comment and headed toward the bathroom but not before saying:  
  
"Ahh, Scully... Why did you have to say that? It's not as if I was going to ask you if you   
cared to join me?"  
  
"Of course not, Mulder..."  
I didn't wait for another smart-ass answer of his and rushed to the kitchen, suddenly very   
hungry...  
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We arrived at the office laughing like idiots because of all the strange looks we were given   
after I slapped him on his...well, on his *very* lower back.  
I had almost forgotten about the letter thing, but I realized Mulder hadn't stopped thinking   
about it for a second when I saw his reaction to a new one, waiting for him on his desk.  
  
He sighed, resigned, but when he saw that not one but *two* letters had been left he shrugged   
his shoulders.  
One of them was a manila envelope, and he seemed to cool down when he opened it.  
  
"It's just the bank..."  
  
But then the look in his eyes turned from relief to anguish. As he wasn't saying anything, I   
pushed him toward an answer:  
  
"What? What is it, Mulder? Is there a problem?"  
  
"Hum, yeah...kind of. There's something wrong with one of my father's bank account."  
  
I was perplexed, but once again, I had to ask him another question so that he'd carry on.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"When my father died, I had to take care of all this stuff... I thought everything was in order,   
but apparently they found that something was missing."  
  
"Missing? What is missing, Mulder?"  
  
"I don't know...yet. But I have to go."  
  
"To the bank? Now?!"  
  
"Yes, they make it sound really important; I don't have a choice."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Don't worry..." He interrupted me, already opening the office's door "...I'll be back soon,   
the bank is not very far from D.C."  
  
I had no time to say anything else because he was already gone.   
I stood where I was for a while, trying to figure out exactly what could be missing in a bank   
account. It sounded weird, and it was surprising coming from Mulder that he was rushing   
there without any more information.  
  
But then I understood, it was his *father's* bank account, maybe he thought he could find   
something in relation to the letters.  
  
"Damn it, Mulder..." I said aloud "..why did you have to ditch me again and go there   
alone?"  
  
Then, as my eyes wandered around the office, I realized something: the plain envelope with   
his name typed was still on his desk, unopened...he hadn't taken it with him. In fact, I think   
he completely forgot about it.  
  
I looked intently at it, as if I could read what was written in it without having to open it.  
*Should* I open it? It was Mulder's personal business, but he wasn't here.  
My curiosity got the better of me, and I found myself tearing it open.  
  
"THE SON WILL SCREAM IN PAIN TONIGHT"  
  
It took my breath away. I dropped it quickly on the desk, as if it had caught on fire but my   
fingers were not burning. My eyes were, however.   
  
And then I got it, as I saw the discarded manila envelope on Mulder's desk: why were the two   
envelopes together? Mulder never finds his mail on his desk, apart from those letters.  
  
It meant that the two envelopes had come from the very same person.  
  
"My God, Mulder...it's a trap!!"  
TO BE CONTINUED...  
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This chapter was longer than the others, that's why you had to wait for it...  
I'm sorry... I know how cruel it is to stop here but, well...the chapter's title was "The Third   
Letter"!  
Anyway, I already started to write the next part, so it shouldn't take too much time.  
  
Don't forget to let me know what you think about the story so far!! 


	5. The Bank Robbery

THE BANK ROBBERY  
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What am I doing here? I've been driving for about two hours, and I'm still unsure of   
what I'm heading to. I'm on autopilot -my feet, my hands are all driving- but my mind is far   
away from this rainy road.  
Part of my mind stayed at the office, with Scully and the unopened letter. I know perfectly   
well that it's still waiting on my desk (the letter, not Scully) but it was not intentional to leave   
it, or maybe I just didn't realize what I was doing.  
  
I wanted to think about something else for a little while, and it worked...for about ten   
minutes. Then everything came back to me when I realized what my little journey was about,   
the exact same thing as the letters themselves, my *dear* father.  
Those letters were starting to get on my nerves and, as a consequence, I couldn't think straight   
anymore. Maybe it was a big mistake to run from D.C., but this bank thing was really   
mysterious and I needed to find out what the hell it was about.  
XXXXXXXXXXXX  
Here I am, *almost* patiently waiting for my turn in the bank queue. Did everybody in this   
damned city decide to go to the bank this Tuesday at eleven or am I just a little nervous?  
I feel as if people are watching me from everywhere; for a brief second I even consider   
turning back toward my car...but I finally decide against that idea, knowing that I don't really   
have the choice.  
  
I must have kind of drifted off for a while because, suddenly, the person just in front of me is   
very still. I'm about to tell her as *kindly* as my rising headache enables me to, that it would   
be nice if she could move her ass a bit faster...when a noise stops me dead in my track, a   
noise I know too well.  
  
A gunshot. Then screams, coming from everywhere.  
  
It is my turn to be very still but, as I feel something cold at my neck, which turns out to be a   
gun barrel, I finally move.  
  
"DIDN'T YOU HEAR ME?! I SAID DOWN!"  
  
And so I lie down, wait, and think. Should I make a move? I'm an armed FBI agent for God's   
sake! But something is *very* wrong: the gun barrel remains at my neck.  
Why? I'm not the only client here, it's crowded!  
The barrel finally moves but, instead of being removed from my neck, it moves up towards   
my ear.  
I can feel my attacker looking at me very closely, which makes me feel rather uncomfortable.  
I wanted to ask him if there was something strange about my hair, but he finally says   
something.  
  
"I FOUND HIM!"  
  
Heavy footsteps approach me, I swallow hard, and wait for my sentence.   
What is this all about? What did they mean by "found"?   
Something is really wrong, and I think I know what I've just put my feet into: it's a trap.  
  
"Well then, what are you waiting for? Knock him unconscious!"  
  
I think Scully is going to be mad at me...  
TO BE CONTINUED...  
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	6. The First Night

THE FIRST NIGHT  
  
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In the office.  
  
"Dammit, Mulder. I'm going to kick your ass. And I hope it won't take place in a hospital, or." But I stop the course of my thoughts there, preferring to concentrate myself on the present, and on the few things I had to work on in order to get to him. I know perfectly well that I have to find him very quickly, but I don't know where to start. He hadn't told me where he was going, only that it was "not too far from D.C." and, as he had taken the bank's letter, I was unable to find its location.  
  
I rummage through every possible drawer I imagined could contain that sort of information to no avail. It was such personal information that the best thing I could do was head toward his apartment where I had a better chance of finding anything of any interest.  
  
First, though, I have to do something else, something I hope Mulder will forgive.for he had been adamant that none of this 'letter-thing' is Bureau business. But now that he is in danger, I have to find Skinner - I have to tell him what is going on and, frankly, .I just need help.  
  
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In the trunk.  
  
Everything is black. I don't want to open my eyes because I already know where I am, it's happened so many times: I'm in a car trunk.  
  
I feel groggy; I've probably been drugged. I can remember the bank, the queue, the startling noise, the men and the gun put behind my neck. My head and my back hurt badly, they probably dragged me here without a lot of care.how surprising! I manage to lift my head but it doesn't go very far and hits the roof. "Fuffhm!" that's when I realize that a rag is stuffed in my mouth. I can't even swear properly, how pathetic.  
  
I wish I could see my watch, but my hands are tied behind my back and there is no light at all.it wouldn't change a thing if I kept my eyes closed. I have no idea how long I've been here but I have no time to worry about what is going to happen to me, I'm so angry with my stupidity that I can't think straight. I should have seen it coming -I'm a fucking psychologist for God's sake!- it's easier to swear in my head.but I was so blinded by the personal facts of the case. Yeah, it's just a stupid case in fact, and *I* was the target. If I didn't ache so badly already, I'd probably punch myself very hard.  
  
I can feel the car beginning to lose speed.then come to a stop. Doors are banging closed, and I know that I'm the next thought in their head. I was right; I can hear footsteps approaching.  
  
Everything was black, now everything is so bright I think I'm becoming blind. But it's not the sun's light, for I now know that it's the night. Two pale figures lean over me -I don't know either of them- and something wet is put over my newly free to speak mouth before I can utter a word. I try to fight the chloroform effect for a while, but a fist's blow finally stills me.  
  
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Somewhere else, one hour later..  
  
I wake up on a dirty floor.and the first thing I realize is that I no longer have a rag in my mouth, which is not really a good thing: it proves that my captors don't give a shit if I yell, no one would hear me. I try not to show my worry as a door is opened, but I am nervous. Once again, light blinds me as whoever entered the room switches on a lamp. A plain bulb hangs from the ceiling and I can see it moving back and forth like a pendulum.  
  
I retreat as far from the man as I can as I realize what he is holding. My back hits a wall and I have no choice but to face him as I try to sit.  
  
"Don't worry." he says gently, moving the baseball bat very close to my head, "I won't use it unless I'm forced to."  
  
Well, that's reassuring. My tied hands and shaky legs make me unable to stand up, but when he puts the bat on my chest to still me, I don't try to move.  
  
"Stay there. Don't try to stand or you will find yourself back on your knees in no time."  
  
I can see his face.but nothing comes back from my memory. Jet black hair, black eyes, white skin and a strangely shrill voice considering his impressive build.I think I would have remembered him.  
  
"You don't know who I am?" he asks me kindly, even smiling  
  
I shake my head in the negative, wondering if it was a good idea to move it in the first place, since it's still aching.  
  
"Don't worry." he adds, showing me his too-white teeth ".you'll soon discover that."  
  
I swallow hard, imagining why he said that.but I try not to show my anxiety as I picture him using the bat against my ribs.  
  
"Let's just say for now that I'm a kind of seeker. I seek the truth.that makes us very much alike, doesn't it Fox?"  
  
The way he said my name makes my blood run cold. Of course, I'm not used to hearing it but, as he lingered on the final 'x', the room temperature seemed to drop by many degrees.  
  
"What truth are you looking for?" I ask, my voice less shaky than I feared.  
  
He stares at me with a funny expression: "I forgot that you were also able to speak." But then, his smile fades, and I can no longer discern humour in his features. I can see the bat moving really fast toward me, but I have no time to react and I take the blow hard in the chest. I close my eyes briefly, trying to not to slip on the floor and catch my breath.  
  
"I'M THE ONE WHO'S ASKING QUESTIONS!!" he yells very close to my ear.  
  
He swings the bat again, harder, and this time I can't suppress a groan and my shoulders' weight send me to the floor. I cough, surprised not to see blood spreading on the floor: I'm quite sure he already broke me a few ribs.  
  
"I'll come back later, I hope you'll be more cooperative."  
  
With that, he closes the door, and I find myself once again in the darkness.  
  
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I don't know how long they waited before they come back into the room, I say 'they' 'cos there are now three men, all hovering above me.  
  
I'm lying on my side, I must have drifted off for a while, weakened by the blows. I try to stand the best as I can, but all I can do is simply put my back against the wall and stare back at them. My ribs don't hurt too much but my head is spinning and my vision is not very clear.  
  
"Do you have any questions?"  
  
I may look like one, but I'm not an idiot: "I thought I wasn't supposed to ask questions." The black haired man smiles, and asks the others to come nearer. I can now see their faces, but once again, none look familiar. Did I say the first bastard who hit me looked impressive? Well, scratch that, my two new friends *look* impressive. I'm even surprised not to see foam forming at the corners of their mouths.  
  
He nods at them and I can feel them dragging me to my feet, holding my arms in their big hands.  
  
"Untie him, I'm sure he'll be more comfortable."  
  
His smile is really starting to piss me off; I wish I could erase it from his face. When the two gorillas let go of my arms, I feel myself falling.but I don't go far, and they pull me right back on my feet.  
  
"Don't try to do anything stupid.you don't have your gun, or your phone." He nods his head toward a table, in the corner of the room. I can see my black shirt, phone, gun, cuffs and wallet on it.  
  
"How kind of you to remove my shirt.blood stains are so hard to get out!" I couldn't suppress a little joke, trying to make the atmosphere lighter.  
  
He smiles warmly, nods again and I know before the gorillas hit me that 'humour' has no place in a situation like this. I catch my breath, my head is hanging loose on my chest, but it doesn't remain there as a hand grips my hair and pull it back once again.  
  
"I think you're ready to hear what we have to say. As you've probably already guessed, all this has to do with your father."  
  
"My father is dead." I point matter-of-factly.  
  
"That's where you're wrong.he's alive, and he's the one we're looking for."  
  
"I really don't know what you're talking about, Bill Mulder."  
  
A blow to the stomach stops me from carrying on my sentence and the black haired man comes nearer to me so that I can smell his breath. I try to move away from him, but the two arms that are gripping me tighten and I'm forced to look him square in the eyes.  
  
"I'm not talking about Bill Mulder, I thought you realized that." he tells me, with a look of sadness, sad .for me?  
  
He grips my shoulders and puts his forehead against mine and speaks again: "I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but Bill Mulder is not your father. Well.not your *real* father anyway."  
  
It's my turn to smile, and I answer him from my position a few inches above him: "I've already heard that shit. If you're referring to the smoking bastard he's not my father.and if you want to kill him then let's do it together!"  
  
His elbow comes in contact with my chest a few times, and he then takes up his former position with his hands on my shoulders. We're both out of breath, but not for the same reason.  
  
"WILL YOU LET ME FINISH MY SENTENCE?!"  
  
I try to put my head back down, but he places his hands on my cheeks, squeezing them with force.  
  
"I want you to look at me when I'm talking to you, okay? Now you listen to me. I don't care who you *think* he is, you can picture him playing whatever part you want in your fucking life, but for me.for us.he's your blood, you're his son."  
  
His words hurt more than his blows, because I knew he was right.  
  
You' re probably wondering why I believe this man, who has been vociferating in my face for over an hour. I think I just needed a kind of confirmation of what I had been told, and of what I have learned from my years in the X-Files.this man just gave that to me. I can barely feel his blows on my head and stomach, and his voice is lost to me.but when his knee comes in contact with my groin, I open my eyes again. I think he is surprised to see all the hatred in my eyes or maybe he was even scared.  
  
But I don't want to kill him, not yet anyway.my murder plan was directed toward someone else. Unfortunately, he misunderstood me and started to speak again in a lower voice.  
  
"Now you know who I'm talking about.but there's something *I* know that you don't. I'm aware that he gave something to you, something he wasn't supposed to give to anyone. And the only reason I can think of why he gave it to you is because you are his son." he pauses, his face red from screaming, "You know what I'm referring too.the chip."  
  
Oh God.please don't. Not the chip, not the chip.not my Scully.  
  
He must have seen something flashing in my eyes, because he smiles brightly and adds, this time without yelling: "Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. You can't imagine the power of this chip you have, you've probably put it somewhere safe, but the only thing we want to know is: where."  
  
"It would have been easier to call me, guys." I feel better, because I realize that he doesn't know that Scully has the chip in her neck, the same chip that saved her from her cancer. She is safe, for now, and that's the most important thing in this story.  
  
"I threw it away a long time ago. I didn't know what it was for, I had no reason to keep it."  
  
It is my turn to see something in his eyes.in fact; he reacts as if I had just punched him, which is a good thing.  
  
"You.you didn't do that! You *couldn't* have done something like that!"  
  
He looks totally taken aback, miserable.but I don't feel any pity for him. He lowers his head, shakes it from side for a few seconds and then looks back at me.  
  
"You're lying. I know you have it.you wouldn't have done something that irrational."  
  
"Why would I lie? I told you the truth." the man was cleverer than I thought.  
  
He shakes his head, almost in sorrow: "You're going to make me hurt you."  
  
He takes a step back and then punches me hard in the stomach. I saw it coming, and braced myself for the blow but the force is strong enough to send me to my knees, since the gorillas had released me. As I gasp for breath, I hear a gun cock behind me and feel cold steel against my skull.  
  
"Is that it?" I ask. "Are you finished?"  
  
A clump of my hair is gripped in someone's hand and I am dragged to my feet, the gun still behind my ear.  
  
"How stupid are you?" he says, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand "You want to die?"  
  
"Not really. But apparently, since you don't believe me.."  
  
He throws his fist back again. The tone of his voice grows gentler, but his face hardens as he speaks again: "I'm sorry we have to do this to you, but I need to be sure that you understand what we've discussed. If at any point you feel you have something to add to what you've told me, just moan louder."  
  
He then nods at whoever is behind me and I am forced down to my knees again. My arms are pulled back and then secured with cuffs. I look up to see the black haired man limping toward me. In his hand, he holds a black metal rod. Crackling blue lightning dances along its length.  
  
The first two shots from the cattle prod knock me backwards and send me spasming to the ground, my teeth gritted in pain against my tongue. After the third or fourth contact I lose control of myself and blue flashes move through the blackness of my mind until, at last, the clouds take me and all goes quiet.  
  
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When I come to, I am lying on my back, still on the same dirty floor. The tips of my fingers are raw, my head aches badly, my body still trembles and there is dried blood on the side of my face. I feel nauseous; and when I open my eyes, the room spins before my eyes.  
  
"I'm going to vomit." I think.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED..  
  
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	7. Scully's Desperate Search

First of all, I would like to thank all of you for sending reviews. This story is very difficult for me to write because English is not my native tongue: I'm French. But I enjoy every second I spend writing it, imagining you reading it afterwards.  
  
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CHAPTER 7: SCULLY'S DESPERATE SEARCH  
  
In the office..  
  
I have been working on what little Mulder left me before he.disappeared since Tuesday afternoon. I didn't find any clues to his location at his apartment, or here in the office. I was quite desperate when I finally went to Skinner the very same day, knowing perfectly well that nothing could be done before a 12 hour lapse of proven "missing", even if that missing person was a Special Agent.  
  
When Skinner closed the door behind me as I entered his office, he saw right away that something was wrong and asked me promptly:  
  
"What's the matter, Agent Scully? Is it Mulder?"  
  
I would have laughed if the situation wasn't so tragic, Skinner always suspected something when Mulder was not with me in his office.and how could I blame him? He was right: something was very wrong, and it was Mulder indeed. Now where to start?  
  
"Sir, I don't know where Agent Mulder is."  
  
I took a deep breath and gripped the arms of the chair. Done, I'd said it.  
  
"That's what I've been trying to tell you. I'm not avoiding the issue, I'm not covering for him, I'm not trying to be difficult - I really don't know where he is."  
  
Perhaps it was not very clever to add that so quickly, he might think I was lying.but I was just too tired to be thinking of the best way to proceed with Skinner; and frankly, I - *we* just didn't have enough time to build up a strategy.  
  
He looked taken aback. He leaned forward in his chair, his arms resting on the desk. He looked intently at me before answering, as if he were looking for the right words to say.  
  
"Agent Scully. Are you saying that Agent Mulder is missing?"  
  
Thank God, he got there fast.  
  
"I'm afraid he is, sir."  
  
"Can you be more specific?"  
  
"Before I start telling you anything, I would like you to understand that what I'm going to say is strictly personal. It is Agent Mulder's personal business, and that's why I'm a little uneasy with the idea of discussing it with you, or with anyone else for the matter. I wouldn't have come to you if Agent Mulder wasn't in such a precarious situation."  
  
"All right." He gazed at me for a long moment as I met his eyes and stared back, unflinching.  
  
"Tell me."  
  
I then told him about the three letters, and the bank. I spared him the details concerning our relationship, it was not *really* any of his business after all.even though he was our boss. He seemed pretty interested on my story, and didn't even flinch when I recited him the exact words written on the letters. He quickly came to the same conclusion as my own: the bank letter was a trap.  
  
"And where's the bank?" He finally asked, his glasses now resting on his desk.  
  
"That's what I've been looking for all day, sir.with no result."  
  
I stopped and looked at my lap. My right hand was tightly clenched inside my left. I studied both hands for a moment, then forced myself to relax and looked up. I met Skinner's gaze again and continued.  
  
"He only said that it wasn't very far from D.C. when he left."  
  
"And when was that? When did he leave your office?"  
  
I sighed, knowing that it wouldn't sound very convincing to his ears: it was just so painful for me to concede it.  
  
"Seven hours ago, sir. I tried to reach him several times of course, but his phone was unreachable."  
  
"I see. Is there any possibility that he simply went on one of his dear wild goose chase alone?"  
  
I knew he was going to ask that one.but I couldn't answer him: "No sir. He promised me not to ever ditch me again after a rather passionate night not so long ago." So I preferred using another explanation.  
  
"I'm not sure, Sir, but I don't think he's taken off on his own this time. We've had a number of talks about his communication skills, or lack thereof, when he's on a tear, and he's gotten a lot better about at least leaving me a message when he takes off in the middle of the day."  
  
I gave a small laugh. "He even invites me to come along sometimes now."  
  
I shook my head, then added, "I'm really concerned about him, Sir."  
  
He sighed, and finally said what I was hoping for when I entered his office:  
  
"Do you want to issue a missing persons report for him?"  
  
"I don't think we have any choice, Sir."  
  
I straightened then added "I am convinced that Agent Mulder is not absent of his own volition, and I need help to find him." I slumped dejectedly in my chair.  
  
"All right."  
  
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And that's how it all started, four days ago. I really don't know how I managed to survive such a long time without any clue of where Mulder could be, but I did.  
  
There was not a lot to do, apart from waiting a possible phone call from his captors. The letters had been analysed, with no result: a profile was very hard to build on so little information. But I was still hopeful, because I had the feeling that if Mulder was dead, I would know it.for I would also be dead.  
  
Every night I come home, and every night I don't have any more clues than the previous one. I lay curled in my bed, trying to find a comfortable position in the unoccupied space, wondering of his whereabouts.  
  
This night is different though, because the phone rings.  
  
I find myself incapable of moving, fearing what news the call would bring. I sigh, and wait for the fourth ring before picking it up.  
  
"Scully? *Painful sigh* It's me."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED..  
  
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Okay, this one was not very long. But hey! We had to know what happened to Scully, right?? Anyway, in the next chapter you will be told what happened to Mulder before the final phone call. Sorry, but he'll have to suffer just a little more before that. ;)  
  
Don't forget to review!! 


	8. Getting Free First Part

CHAPTER 8: GETTING FREE (FIRST PART)  
  
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Wednesday Morning.  
  
I woke up many times during the night, afraid that they would come again and beat me more. But I think they realized I wouldn't be very useful dead -they needed me alive- which proved that they were not done with me yet.they were going to ask me again, in their own way, where the chip was.  
  
I will be a dead man before I utter a word of its location.  
  
I already know I *am* a dead man, for I will not last long in such circumstances, and it doesn't scare me that much. Scully and I have both come across that feeling so many times already that it will not come to me as a gruesome surprise.it is more likely to be my salvation in this world that I'm living in right now. A world of pain, suffering, fear and angst.  
  
The ground is cold against my cheek, and I feel myself trembling. I manage to put my no-longer-tied hands from my chest, and I try to lift myself on my knees before my ribs -or what was left of them- send me flat on the floor once again, my teeth gritted in pain.  
  
I drag myself back against the wall and rest my head against it, already completely exhausted from the slow movements. I understand now that it was no use to bind my hands and feet: I can't go very far.  
  
A cursory check on myself reveals that I plainly hurt everywhere. Apparently the men had continued to beat me after I had lapsed into unconsciousness. My legs, my back, my chest and abdomen, everything is a mass of welts, bruises, and broken skin.  
  
My whole left arm feels as if it is on fire. Dislocated shoulder? Probably. Before I could finish cataloguing my injuries, I involuntarily shifted to try to relieve some of the pressure on the arm and shoulder. I immediately know that it is a mistake when I hear a voice coming from behind the door saying:  
  
"Oh, look, he's awake again."  
  
Pretty bad idea to have moved. I curse silently in my head, because I know I'm not ready to take some more punches in the stomach right now. My mouth is very dry, and I find myself feeling very thirsty. Hungry? The very thought of *eating* something makes me want to vomit -again.  
  
The three same men as yesterday enter the room, and switch on the light. I close my eyes briefly, but I can feel that my head is not far from explosion: it's as if my brain is trying to escape from its secure nest.  
  
Dammit.I won't get very far if a simple light makes me feel this way!  
  
I grip my left shoulder with my right arm, trying to protect it from the kicks that are probably going to fly shortly. I think they saw my reaction, because the leader of the three men -the one who's asking questions- advances toward me and bends forward.  
  
"My, my. I think your shoulder is dislocated. Poor guy.you must be in terrible pain!"  
  
I can see him smiling, but as he speaks to the others, he fakes concern.  
  
"It's not safe to let it that way." he starts, trying to get nearer while his gorillas are also approaching.  
  
".he could injure himself and bleed to death. We have to do *something* to ease his pain."  
  
His eyes are glowing with sparks, and panic gets the better of me for a moment. I focus on my breathing in a concerted effort to calm myself, and finally manage to choke out:  
  
"Don't touch it! Leave it that way.it's..okay."  
  
"Okay? Are you kidding?"  
  
I am now literally lifted from my secure ball-like position from the floor by the gorillas who are using whatever part of my body they can reach -neck, hair, chin- to put me first on my knees, then on my shaky legs. They don't even try to see if I can stand by myself as they leave their arms securely around my waist.  
  
"I've got good news.and bad news, Fox. Which one do you want first?"  
  
I don't answer and he doesn't seem to mind, his smile still playing on his lips.  
  
"Well, maybe the good news will cheer you up: I was trained by a medical doctor.so don't worry, it will be a clean operation and I'll proceed just once."  
  
I stop breathing. He was putting my shoulder back in its socket, like that?! My God.if there is anything left in my stomach, it is a good time for coming out!  
  
His smile fades, and he acts like if he is going to announce me someone's death or something.  
  
"Now, the bad news. I'm afraid we don't have anything to inject you as an anaesthetic. Not even alcohol to let you drink. Anyway, I heard you're not a great drinker, are you Fox?"  
  
I wish I could call him a bastard, a son of a bitch, a fucking freak.but no sound can escape my mouth. As he orders his gorillas to hold me very tight and manages without too much struggle to take my left arm in his, I stay impassive and very quiet.  
  
"You be a good boy and we'll leave you alone for the rest of the day. In one movement it will be over."  
  
He was right: one movement and everything is over. My body explodes in agony and time seems to slow as I watch the floor racing upward to catch me. I gasp -"Scully"- the name doesn't escape my lips, but my mind was screaming it unceasingly in burning fury. It was a primal reaction to pain, and need, and the bedrock knowledge that only one thing - one person- could save me now.  
  
I thrash on the floor, giving in fully to the mindless panic that had been threatening to overtake me since this whole ordeal began. "Scully, Scully, I'm here, Scully." I cry in my head, over and over again.  
  
It is fortunate the pain and the panic and the fear are enough that I feel the blackness of unconsciousness beckoning me. Once again, I fall gratefully into her welcoming arms.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED...  
  
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	9. Getting Free Second Part

GETTING FREE (PART TWO)  
  
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Wednesday night..  
  
Nothing. Just darkness. It takes me a while to realize that it is because my eyes are closed. When did I fall asleep? I raise a hand to my face to wipe away all vestiges of sleep when my fingertips brush the side of my head, scraping against dried, crusted blood.  
  
Pain lances down my jaw and spreads across my skull, making me clench my eyes shut again. I take several deep calming breaths, but I lose control again when I remember the events that led to my present state. On the verge of hyperventilating, I try not to think of what will happen if no one finds me in the following.days, or maybe hours if I am not lucky.  
  
I am not sure how long I've been here, only that I am ready to leave...any way I can. I lie on the floor, shivering. I don't know if the room is actually cold or if fever is beginning to rage through my weakened body. My entire body is sweat soaked from.fever I rationally think given the circumstances I'm in. I know that the room is cold, but my skin feels hot and salty sweat mingles with open wounds causing intermittent snaps of stinging pain.  
  
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Later.  
  
If, by taking away my watch and therefore my sense of time, they intended to drive me over the edge, it is working. I have given up my attempt to keep track of the days in my head, unable to sort out the hours of unconsciousness and pain.  
  
I know I was unconscious for a long time yesterday, after they put my shoulder back in its socket, but I'm afraid they will come back now, for more "truth seeking sessions". Just to prove me right, the door is opened.but only one of the men comes in, one of the gorillas. I swallow hard, excepting another beating but none comes. He stares at me for a long time, then pulls something out into the light so that I can see it: water, and a piece of bread.  
  
I try not to look like I'm starving, but I really am. He smiles at me knowingly and puts the food on the floor. It's too far for me to reach it from where I am, but I manage to move toward my goal on my knees, feeling like a stupid animal that must be fed in order to live. I look at the food, then at the man standing above me and I'm glad his smile remains on his lips as he exits the room.  
  
I drink all the water but keep half of the bread into my chino's pocket.which was very hard to reach as my left shoulder is still sore. I won't thank them for what they did to me, I suffered like hell, but now the pain is almost gone: it's more like a dull ache.and I can manage with that.  
  
I try not to give in to slumber but my mind and body are both so tired that it's impossible for me not to close my eyes. Just a minute.my brain keeps saying, just a little minute of rest just.  
  
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Later.  
  
I cringe as I realize that it is time for another session. They seem to last forever; but rationally, I figure they never go on for longer than an hour or two. During these times I am introduced and reintroduced to pain. Just when I think my mind has become immune, just when I think I can't feel any new sensations over the dull throb that has become my body, these men seem able to find a way. Through something that could only be called demonic genius, these men are able, not only to remind me that I am alive, but also make me wish I were not.  
  
In a vain attempt to preserve my sanity, I have begun to keep a running catalogue of my injuries. It is thankfully short, but I have a feeling that that isn't going to last.  
  
My temper flares momentarily and I struggle weakly against the strong arms that are holding me down on the cold cement floor. They keep asking me the same question over and over again: "Where's the chip?" and I always answer that I don't know.but they never seem to be satisfied. Hell, I think that even if I told them where the chip was, they would beat the shit out of me in exactly the same way. They take pleasure in it and they're not about to stop soon, I feel that in all of their blows against my back, chest, face, legs.  
  
I stop fighting back as I just don't have the strength anymore.I wish I still had a motive to make my life worth living. Scully, Scully, Scully. I keep calling her in my head like a mantra. She's my saviour, the only thread that keeps me attached to saneness and reality. She *is* my motive.  
  
Every weak muscle in my body strains against my captors, but to no avail. I dig my fingers vainly into the unyielding cement, but it does nothing to quell the pain. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think of Scully, but no thoughts materialize through the haze of pain. Instead, I wait, wait for the end.maybe *my* end, my death. But right now I don't really care, because I shut myself off and wait for those sick fucks to finish doing whatever it is they are trying to accomplish.  
  
I have closed myself off. I have shut down. I feel nothing.  
  
I thrash about, bellowing until I am hoarse, but they only watch and laugh maniacally. They get up, getting of from me, and walk out of the room, closing the heavy door behind them. The lock clicks with a finality that begins to instil an immense fear deep within me. I lie back on the cold floor and begin to shiver again. I try very hard to keep my head very still as I know that the slightest movement on my part will make me violently ill. I close my eyes and think of Scully.  
  
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Later.  
  
They didn't punch me during the last "round". They sat me on a chair (which was a very painful achievement for me) and then gave me more to drink and to eat than they had done since the beginning of the ordeal. They even gave me a sponge to clean the dirt and blood from my face, neck and arms. It wasn't a lot, but I felt much better.  
  
I tried not to show my anxiety, expecting them to react badly and violently once again. But to my great surprise.they didn't touch me. They were very calm, but their questions were the same. Their strategy may have changed, but their goal hadn't: they still wanted the chip.  
  
I tried to explain to them that I *really* didn't know where it was, calmly, without raising my voice, without flinching, without hesitating and showing them how scared I was.  
  
They didn't believe me. They left the room after having switched off the light and I heard my lead captor murmur to the others: "Too bad for him."  
  
Since then I have been lying back on the floor, waiting, scared to the point of forgetting how to breathe.  
  
I have always been confident of my sanity. Sure, I would readily admit that, at times, I can sound and behave quiet.weird; but I never thought I was insane. Even when I see behaviour in myself that I would think abnormal in others, I never once thought myself as anything less than stable. There is, however, a first time for everything and the longer I stay here waiting for Death on that floor, the more I am sure that even if I do get out of there alive, I will spend the rest of my days in a padded cell.  
  
Above all else though, is my constant battle with insanity. I wondered many nights or many days or afternoons if I had, indeed, gone over the edge. I don't feel like I've gone mad though...but they say that's the first sign of true insanity. So, as long as I question my sanity, logically, I was still sane, right?  
  
Of course, by now I want to die. I've wanted to die so many times by now. I would have killed myself had there been a way.  
  
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I don't know how many hours or days I wait, wait for Death to come and get me. But what finally wakes me up from my dreaded sleep is not *It*. Or maybe it is just the same.  
  
The leader enters the room, carrying something he has already used against me; something with which he broke too many of my ribs and then finally knocked me unconscious. So this is it? I was going to be beaten to death with a baseball bat? God, I never imagined myself dying from a glorious death but.  
  
He taps the bat against his leg in an almost impatient gesture.  
  
"Here are the rules: I am the batter. You are the ball."  
  
I snort. "That's it?"  
  
A foul grin spreads across the bigger man's face. "Yeah, that's it."  
  
He hefts the bat into position. "Play ball."  
  
It comes swiftly, but I am prepared. I lurch out of the way, landing heavily on my side. I scramble to my feet just in time to dodge the next swing. I can feel the air brush against my cheek as the bat passes by, me only just stumbling out of its reach.  
  
This luck can't last forever and I know it. I am seriously injured already and so after another minute of struggling from one corner of the cell to the other, my energy runs out. I try to duck under the latest swing but I am too slow, the tip of the bat catches me on my shoulder - thankfully it's the uninjured one - and it spins me into the nearest wall. I slide to the ground, knowing I need to get up, to keep moving. But I can't.  
  
So I decide to make do with what I have. I can still turn at the waist, take the brunt of the blows on my upper back and lessen the chance for internal injuries. This is exactly what I do when the hailstorm of wooden fists comes raining down on me. I twist and turn, keeping the bat at my back. I can feel the blood from reopened cuts trickle down my feverish skin, sending shivers down my spine.  
  
I want to let go of everything right now, and die right here but something holds me back, something that I can see resting on the table.  
  
My gun.  
  
He forgot to take it away.  
  
I could use it.  
  
Against me or.  
  
.against them.  
  
I want to kill them - I will kill them. I'm not going to die. I have to kill them first.  
  
I don't know how I manage to find this new strength but when I'm once again claimed by the darkness, I know I will get up and fight soon.even if it is my last fight: I'm not dead yet.  
  
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One more to go with a suffering Mulder. Don't worry, the cavalry arrives!! (aka Scully, but you all guessed that anyway.)  
  
Don't forget to review!!!!!!! 


	10. Finally Out

CHAPTER 10 : FINALLY OUT  
  
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Skinner entered the room. It was perfectly square, with a low ceiling, and he had the strange feeling that the four walls met too quickly. A simple bulb was hanging from the ceiling to light the scene and it made it seem ethereal. He spotted Mulder standing - or, more accurately, leaning - in a corner while an Agent was trying to ask him questions. He looked as if he was attempting to become one with the wall, and to disappear into it. He held his arms tightly around him in a protective gesture and seemed unable to grip anything other than his gray T-shirt. Skinner quickly understood his action because he had unfortunately witnessed it too many times, and he also had suffered from the same cause himself. Mulder was holding his ribs fiercely, even if many might be broken, so as to prove to himself that he was indeed alive, and that he could still feel pain. As Skinner saw the laborious breathing of the younger Agent, he understood that all the things that had been said concerning what had taken place in this room were true.  
  
A chair, a table, a bulb: the furniture in the room was very sparse. He swallowed hard when he got a glimpse of what had been put down on the table: a knife, a baseball bat, a cattle rod, a whip. He stopped his listing right away, fearing the urge of an unexpected trip into the cool air of the night.  
  
The body hadn't been covered yet. It was still lying flat on its back with a hole in the middle of its face. The blood had yet to dry and was still very red, and he could see it glistening from where he was standing. A gun had been discarded on the floor a few feet from it, dried blood covering its butt. The man who had used said gun was still lurching as he was trying to stand in the darkest corner of the room, his legs not far from collapsing under his weight.  
  
Skinner walked in his direction and came across more red puddles on the floor. He noted that the dead man on the floor was not the only one who had lost blood during the fight.  
  
"Agent Mulder ? How are you feeling? "  
  
Mulder's back wasn't totally facing him but Skinner was unable to see his face. Realizing that he wouldn't move further except if he was forced to, he put his hand on his shoulder, hoping that he would react. The effect he was expecting didn't quite happen and instead Mulder quivered and almost slipped to the floor. Skinner caught him at the last instant and he was finally able to see his "state".or lack thereof.  
  
His pants were torn on his right knee and left hip -blood had dried on the beige cloth. His T-shirt collar was misshapen as a result of the violent grips and tugs it had endured; it was also torn in the middle of it's back by numerous vertical lines he recognized immediately. His neck bore purple marks as well as one side of his face, which seemed to be swollen. His lower lip was split and blood was still dripping from the wound. His eyes were bloodshot and one of them was starting to take on a dangerous shade of green. Dried blood covered his cheeks and it was possible to see its reddish streak which started somewhere in his hair. When Mulder brought his right hand up in order to catch the blood dripping down his chin -shadowed by a five days' beard- he saw that his fingers were the same colour as his neck. Not even one had had been spared he noted, catching a glimpse of his other hand.  
  
"You have to be taken to the hospital, Agent Mulder. Let me help you get out of here. "  
  
"Cou.could you hand me my shirt, please?" He didn't understand the meaning of his words, but he turned his eyes to where Mulder was pointing. The simple act of *pointing* looked difficult for him.  
  
"Mulder, " he added, forgetting the 'Agent' for a while. "You need medical care right now. Don't you think that your *shirt* can wait?"  
  
"Scully. She'll be here soon and I.I don't want her to see me like this. "  
  
He stared at him and finally understood what he really meant by his imploring look: his agent had been almost beaten to death but his only thought was about the reaction of his partner. In a way it was reassuring, it proved that they hadn't hit his head too hard. He was still acting the same.  
  
He picked up Mulder's black shirt, which had been hastily put on the chair and handed it to him. Strangely, it was clean and didn't bear any bloodstains.  
  
Mulder took it from him as best as he could but he failed miserably when he tried to put it on. Skinner helped with all the kindness and care that he could but Mulder couldn't suppress low moans once in a while in the long and difficult process. Skinner reached for the buttons but the younger agent had already put his arms back in place, and held the tails for dear life.  
  
They had only managed to move a few feet when Scully entered. Her face was a mix of sadness and relief. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, which finally fell freely even before she reached Mulder. His reaction could only been read on his face, for he didn't dare move about when she put her hands on his shoulders and buried her head in his neck.  
  
It was hard to see who was really holding the other, but when Mulder uttered a sound that only deep pain would have caused, she pulled back, fear visible on her features.  
  
"Mulder?" she said, putting her hand on his cheek. She wanted to add something but her words were caught in her throat; reality had struck home and it was painful. She stared at her partner as if it was for the first time.unable to tear her eyes away. Tears of both fear and pain now replaced her tears of joy. She stepped back and put the hand that had been lying on Mulder's cheek over her mouth.  
  
"Dear God . !" she choked  
  
Mulder moved his arms but, as he was trying to reach her, he moved them too quickly. He was rewarded by more pain for his efforts and decided not to move his arms ever again in the near future.  
  
"Scully? Everything's all right, now. " he said, resting his hand on her hair as she came closer. She gripped his hand tenderly and looked at it closely. When he saw her reaction, he pulled back immediately.  
  
"You have to be taken to an hospital right away, Mulder. You need medical attention."  
  
"I'm fine, Scully." he answered in a lower voice than he expected.  
  
"For crying out loud Mulder, look at you! Your head is bleeding, your skull might have suffered serious contusions and." Her sobs make her unable to carry on her too-long list of injuries.  
  
She knew that she had to put her feelings at bay but it was very hard for her to suppress them when the only thing that she really wanted to do was throw herself into his arms and cry for days against his chest.  
  
After an uneasy silence, Skinner decided to intervene: "We should go out. I guess you're through with this place. Paramedics are waiting outside, they will be able to start taking care of you."  
  
By stepping outside, reality struck home for Mulder too: five days had passed, without him noticing them, whilst he was held captive and tortured in this cave. When he moved his legs again, he felt his throat constricting and as if his head was about to explode.the ground seemed very welcoming as he let the darkness take him one more time. His vision was blurred but he managed to catch a glimpse of fiery red hair hovering above him before losing consciousness.  
  
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".dehydrated, he really needed that IV."  
  
"Eh ! He's back."  
  
The first thing he noticed as he regained conscience was Scully's hand, which was holding his tightly. He thought at first that he was in another damned hospital but when he finally opened his eyes he saw the same stars in the sky as he had seen before he had passed out. He was lying on a gurney, in the back of the ambulance. He felt really sleepy and only wanted to close his eyes again.but when he heard the words "take him" and "hospital" he quickly changed his mind and began to stand up.  
  
"No!" he yelled, louder than he thought he was able to given his state, while his head begged him to stay quiet. He managed to put his feet on the ground and to straighten up, although he forced himself not to breathe because of the dull pain he felt coming from his broken ribs.  
  
"Mulder?!" she sounded totally taken aback  
  
"I won't go to the hospital, Scully. It's out of the question." he was out of breath, and he wished he were able to say more.  
  
"You're joking, Mulder ?! You could have died not fifteen minutes ago . And who knows how badly they hit your head. You could have injuries that we're not able to see right now. Do you realize you could.you could."  
  
".die, yes I know. But I.I don't want to.I would prefer to die right here, right now on this filthy concrete than in the cleanest hospital."  
  
"Mulder." she pleaded in a very small voice  
  
He then realized that he had gone too far. He sighed loudly, put his arms once again around his ribs, and motioned to Scully to join him. She finally sat as close to him as possible.  
  
"Mulder."  
  
".Sshh. Come here." He put his right arm around her shoulders, and even as the pain became almost unbearable, he put it aside for a while.  
  
"I was really scared...I thought you, I..."  
  
"I know, me too. It's over, and I don't want it to carry on... That's why I just want to go *home*."  
  
"Mulder, you could..."  
  
"Dana..." the fact that he called her by her given name caught her attention, for he never used it outside of their apartments "...I *won't* go to the hospital. Not tonight anyway, please. I just want to.to forget about it for the moment." She said nothing as she stared at him with eyes full of unshed tears. She didn't have the heart to refuse him anything right now, and she finally realized that he was only trying to tell himself that nothing had really *changed*.  
  
"You're probably wondering what good denying what happened will do me in the near future but."  
  
"I think I understand, Mulder..." He sighed again, exhausted by all the things he tried to make her understand in the last few minutes. A paramedic approached them and gave them a blanket that Scully put on his trembling shoulders.  
  
"Stay here... I've got to make a phone call." He nodded his head but seemed halfway in wonderland.  
  
Skinner came closer. He had been really worried when his agent passed out. "How is he? Is he still refusing to be taken to a hospital?"  
  
"Yes...but I think I've found the perfect solution."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"He doesn't wish to go to the hospital tonight.and I understand his reasons. However, I can't take him to his apartment, or to mine for that matter. It wouldn't be safe for him to stay in a car for that long.but my mother lives not very far from here, about 10 miles away. I could drive him there for the night, he would feel safe."  
  
"He looks seriously injured.seriously enough that he should have immediate medical attention..."  
  
"I am perfectly aware of his state... But you and I both know how he reacts when he needs medical care." He smiled briefly, but he was still preoccupied by his agent's condition.  
  
"Then take care of him... He'll need a great deal of care for a while. I don't want to see you in the office before Wednesday.we'll see later for Agent Mulder."  
  
"Thank you, sir..." she was ready to go  
  
"One more thing... I won't be able to keep our agents away from him for any more than 24 hours. I hope he will be prepared.they're going to ask him painful questions."  
  
"I know, sir. Thanks again for your help..."  
  
"You're welcome." she smiled  
  
"Oh, Agent Scully?"  
  
"Yes?" she was already near her car  
  
"Sleep if you can, you look as if you could do with some."  
  
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"Mum? It's me, Dana..."  
  
"Darling, is everything all right? Has something happened?"  
  
"Mum, listen to me. Can I come over tonight?"  
  
"Of course! But tell me.is something wrong?"  
  
"Mulder will be with me, he...God mum it's painful to see him..."  
  
"Take him to the hospital if he feels that bad sweetheart..."  
  
"Well, he doesn't want to go there...tonight...and we're not very far from your house and I just thought that..."  
  
"Okay, bring Fox here...I'll dig out my first-aid kit from the bathroom cupboard while I'm waiting for you two to arrive..."  
  
"Boil some water too, he'll need some stitches..."  
  
"It's that bad?! What happened to him?"  
  
"I'll tell you that once we're at your house.I have to go, I don't think he's feeling very well."  
  
"See you soon then, sweetie."  
  
"Bye"  
  
TO BE CONTINUED  
  
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Sorry about the wait. This chapter was hard to write, and I would like to thank Abi for her great work at correction. I wouldn't be able to carry on without you!  
  
Unlike my others chapters, I translated this one from French, and it's a lot harder than when you start in English from the start: you don't have to think in both languages. So if anyone is interested, or might think it would be fun, I can post this chapter in French.as Chapter 11.  
  
Thank you so much for all your reviews! 


	11. Scully's Mom

CHAPTER 11: SCULLY'S MOM  
  
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The ride is quiet and uneventful. I regularly glance at him to check that he is okay. His eyes are fixed somewhere in front of him at the emptiness of the road. He sits very straight in spite of his tiredness and pain. He hasn't touched the blanket that I had placed on his knees before leaving but his arms are crossed on his chest, and he's keeping them tightly around him without moving them a centimetre.  
  
"We're almost there, Mulder."  
  
He simply nods his head. I can understand his reaction: after all he's been through -and I don't know all the details yet- it is normal that he would act strangely. But something in his eyes worries me: an emptiness that I feel unable to be filled, for now.  
  
I know perfectly well that I will have to *fight*, fight so that he'll talk to me, and so that he won't build new walls around him, like he's used to.  
  
There's something in my head that keeps on yelling: "It isn't fair, it isn't fair, it isn't fair." and it is exactly what *I* want to scream every time I look at him and see his bruised face and body. Why did *it* have to happen now? Now that we've tasted a sweet peace I'm sure he never knew existed.  
  
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I stop the car in front of my mom's house, turn toward Mulder and swallow hard before speaking.  
  
"This is it. I know that the only thing you probably want to do right now is try to get some rest and lie down, but I want to make sure that your wounds are not *too* serious. You've got a big cut just above your eyebrow that probably requires stitches . but I'm sure you'll be a good patient."  
  
He didn't even *try* to smile at my last comment, like I secretly hoped he would. He blinks, so as to show me that he understood, and opens his door. I sigh, and do the same. As he stands there in front of the porch looking lost and unsure, he really reminds me of a kid. He turns toward me very slowly and winces, his ribs probably crying to be left alone and asks in a broken voice.  
  
"Scully . hum. Where are we?"  
  
I think my jaw must be somewhere near my feet when the door is abruptly opened.  
  
"Dana! (yep, I woke her up when I called her before) My God . Fox?!! (here it comes . ) Come, come in quickly."  
  
She seems even more panicked than me, which makes me feel pretty uncomfortable, after having witnessed Mulder not far from slipping on the ground when she (not so gently) opened her door.  
  
When she put her hand on his shoulder to hurry him in, we both heard him grit his teeth and moan with pain.  
  
"Sorry! Oh, I'm so sorry . Fox?"  
  
He doesn't answer but holds his arms even more tightly around his ribs, halfway bent.  
  
"Dana? Wh . what happened to him?"  
  
I take a deep breath, feeling Mulder's pain deep inside my soul and urge my mom to let us walk in.  
  
"He's hurt. Help me sit him in the kitchen, and please go get your first aid kit."  
  
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Six stitches and a butterfly band-aid later, Mulder was still sitting on a kitchen chair, with his eyes fixed somewhere behind me.  
  
With a wet cloth I had managed to clean the dirt and the dried blood from his face but he still needed a good shave and a shampoo to look *alive*. I rapidly decided against the shave, realizing that his swollen bruises and numerous cuts would hurt like hell afterwards. It would have to wait for a few days, and he'd probably look like a grizzly then. I smile at the picture but quickly I'm back on doctor-mode when I feel a trembling under my hands that are resting lightly on his shoulders.  
  
"Are you cold? Do you want me to get you a blanket or something?"  
  
He nods in the negative. Mum had already given us some very hot tea but Mulder didn't touch it. I suspect he feels nauseous, but I know he wouldn't tell me even if he is about to throw up.  
  
I lower my gaze and saw the deep cuts on his hip and knee. The beige cloth of his pants was torn, but fortunately the cuts had stopped bleeding. He follows my gaze and knows what I am going to say even before I speak:  
  
"I need to look at them too, Mulder. They need to be disinfected."  
  
"I really could use a shower right now Scully. They can be disinfected afterwards."  
  
Every time he spoke, my blood ran cold: his voice was so broken that it was tearing me in a thousand pieces.  
  
"Right. But not before I have seen those ribs of yours."  
  
I tried to sound nonchalant about it, knowing that what he was covering underneath his shirt was probably the worst, given his reactions concerning its every move. But when I saw his face becoming even paler, I flinched.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Hum . you don't want to see them."  
  
"But . "  
  
That's when my mum decided to come back from upstairs, where she had gone in order to find a change of clothes.  
  
I stop my sentence and look at Mulder right in the eyes. He seems to understand pretty quickly what I wanted him to understand. *She doesn't know about us* Thank God for the mute conversation we can share!  
  
I sigh again and hope that my mum's presence would make him act reasonably.  
  
"Come on Mulder . The shirt is coming off, I have to take care of the cuts if they are any." As if *cuts* were my first or biggest worry.  
  
The look he gives me then is more powerful than the broken voice. His eyes seem to beg me *Scullyplesasenononononono* again and again. Crying wouldn't be a good idea right now, but I feel like the desperate longing of last week, the pain, the unshed tears are coming full force. I close my eyes, unable to watch the pleading look of Mulder anymore.  
  
"Darling, are you okay?"  
  
That's my mum alright . always there to remind me that she is able to read every look on my face. No mum, I'm not *okay*, and Mulder is FAR from it too. Why didn't I take him to the hospital? I can't do it . I can't watch him suffering every time I try to ease his pain, I can't, I can't .  
  
NO! I've got to be strong, strong for him. He needs me right now, and every time *I* needed him to be strong for me he was.  
  
When I finally open my eyes, I can see that something change in his look, too. His eyes are full of love and tears. He lowers his head, remembering what I made him understand when my mum came in.  
  
"I'm sorry for all the things you've been through because of me, Scully . "  
  
No. I can't stand it anymore, the hell with what mum will think, I can't leave what he said hanging in the air like if it were true. I sit in front of him on the kitchen table so that our eyes can meet. I take his chin in my hands and force him to look at me while I'm speaking:  
  
"No, Mulder. Don't you go there . I won't let you take the blame one more time."  
  
I hear him sob and I then can't suppress the urge to hug him as tightly as I can allow myself to given his state. My arms are around his neck, his face buried against my shoulder. I can feel our tears mixing on my shirt but he's not trembling anymore.  
  
I've got you, Mulder . I won't let you go .  
  
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When we finally let go of each other, mum is still standing in the same spot, and she hadn't moved at all. Our eyes are puffy and red but no more tears leave wet tracks on our faces. I realize that we needed that hug, we needed to console each other before dealing with the consequences of those five horrible days. I should have done it earlier but well . first he flinched, then he fainted, and he finally almost fell asleep. I smile briefly and I let out a relieved sigh when I watch him do the same.  
  
I can see in his eyes that he knows that I'm not done with him, and that the faster he does what I'm asking, the faster he will be able to get some rest.  
  
"Whatever you're trying to hide under that shirt, Mulder, I'll have to see it eventually. I promised you earlier that we won't go to the hospital . not tonight anyway, and I won't break that promise now."  
  
He seems to finally understand, but swallows hard before adding something.  
  
"Scully I . I don't want you to be terrified or anything. I don't want to cause you any more pain. I just want you to remember that everything is *over* and that I'm okay."  
  
"Right Mulder. Now, please . "  
  
But he is already disengaging his arms from one other very slowly, and tugging at his T-shirt. His jaw is clenched, and I can see that he is holding his breath. I place myself behind his chair and help him removing his shirt as gently as I can. He winces numerous times but every time I stop he urges me to carry on.  
  
The black shirt is off . now it's the T-shirt's turn, and I won't be able to help him remove it. I can see him closing his eyes briefly, taking a long shuddering breath and, in one certainly awfully painful move, it's off.  
  
His eyes are still closed, and I'm standing in front of him. I let out the breath that I, too, was holding.  
  
It could be worse but the view of his chest is nonetheless hard to see without having my throat feeling constricted. Its different colours prove that all the kicks he's been given were spread over the days: from the recent red to the ancient purple-blue, all the shades are visible. When I reach for a clean wet cloth that I'm going to use to clean the dried blood coming from his cuts, I hear mom gasp. She is standing behind Mulder, and I can see that she has put her trembling hands on her mouth.  
  
"What have they done to him, My God, Dana . he was, he was ."  
  
I walk toward her in order to reassure her that everything's okay now, and that Mulder is going to be fine . But as soon as I'm standing by her side, I realize why she reacted the way she did, and it's my turn to gasp and to put my hands on my mouth.  
  
Blood red, vertical strokes cover his entire back. There is no place for imagination here, we both know what it means and what caused it.  
  
Mulder's sigh take me back to reality.  
  
"I told you that didn't want to see it."  
  
"Mulder . " my voice is even more small and more broken than his "Why didn't you tell me that they . that they *whipped* you?"  
  
"You don't have to tell me what they did to me, I know it. And you don't have to know all the other things they tried on me. Can I please take a shower, now?"  
  
I can't say anything more so I just nod, completely numb. Mum seems to have recovered more quickly because she leads him toward the bathroom, with the change of clothes and a towel in her hands. I listen them making their way upstairs and then sit on Mulder's vacant chair.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED  
  
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	12. Mother's Thoughts

CHAPTER 12 : MOTHER'S THOUGHTS  
  
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I make sure that Fox has everything he needs in the bathroom, check that he is okay (given the circumstances, I simply check that he is able to stand by his own) and head downstairs, where I am sure to find Dana at the exact same place I last saw her.  
  
I wish I could ask her all the questions I want to concerning Fox's state, but since she entered the FBI, I learned that some things are better left unexplained. So I won't push her too far, knowing she will eventually tell me the bare necessities.   
  
As I approach her and sit on a chair facing her, I realize that she still feels the need to be strong, and to put on her mask of invulnerability in front of me. In a way it saddens me, seeing that my daughter prefers to hide her feelings from me, instead of sharing them. But I can't blame her, for I would have reacted alike in order to protect the man I love. She probably thinks I don't know about them, but it is too obvious: the love that those two share is blinding.   
  
"You're not helping him by playing his game, and pretending nothing happened. You have to be the one to tell him that it is okay to be hurt and scared."  
  
"Mum, Mulder doesn't need me to tell him that... It's not as if he's never been hurt before, he knows how to deal with it."  
  
"What about you, honey?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Do *you* know how to deal with it? How to react when he closes himself like that? How to make him understand that it's not easier to run away from the reality but that in order to heal both physically and mentally he has to accept the facts?"  
  
When I see her bury her face in her hands, I realize that maybe I have indeed pushed her too far. She is on the verge of tears, and I simply pull her closer, to show her that she is allowed to cry...that it is also part of the healing process.   
  
"I'm so scared... What if he never tells me? What if he prefers to bury the last five days deep inside his soul, where no one can reach it? It would destroy everything we have."  
  
"You're the one that knows Fox the best; you just have to show him all your love."  
  
She lifts her head from my shoulder and stares at me quizzically. I simply smile, and she seems to relax, but I know that she still has things to add before I can speak again.  
  
"He will have to talk to agents tomorrow, the way he managed to get free is still unexplained...though it's pretty obvious. I hope that discussing it will help him understand that he can't simply act as if nothing happened...but I also know that it will be terribly hurtful, it's much too soon for him to open his wounds again."  
  
I try not to let her see my anxiety but ask her as seriously as possible to tell me what happened.  
  
"Mum... I...don't *really* know. Mulder was kidnapped after having received threatening letters and then after five days of complete silence, he simply calls me and asks me to come get him. When I arrived, he was just...standing there, surrounded by agents and the local police with a dead body at his feet."  
  
I gasp, even though I tried hard to restrain myself from showing any kind of reaction, knowing that she needed me to be the objective part in the story.  
  
"Did he... (come on, get a grip) Is he the one who *killed* him?"  
  
"I guess... The man was clearly one of his captors, but he didn't tell me anything, so I'm just assuming that it was him."  
  
I have so much more to ask, and the most urgent thing was "why did they beat him?" But she couldn't tell me right know, that was something she couldn't *assume* before Fox talks to her.   
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
As I was wondering what questions I could ask without making her sad or uneasy, Fox entered the kitchen. He was so quiet that if he hadn't announced his presence, we wouldn't have realized that he was in the same room, well ... *I* wouldn't have realized, because Dana seems to be able to feel his presence every time he is close to her.  
  
She tenses then turns her back toward him, her eyes still full of pain. But Fox seems to be in a better shape, even though it is clear that all his wounds hadn't healed in the shower like magic. He looks *human* again, his eyes are even shining a bit, but I know that their clearest colour won't show for some time. I miss their warm golden-green shade, but I'll have to settle for their gray right now.   
  
Every time he blinks, I can see that his eyelids linger quite long before returning in their former place: he is tired, it is time to let him get some rest, and no more painful questions will be ask tonight.  
  
By the look my daughter gives me, I understand that she wishes I would leave them alone. I comply, knowing that the two of them still have things to share, things where words are not necessary: every time I look into their eyes, I can see thousands of feelings floating in them, and they seem to be able to decipher one others look.   
  
I tell Dana that Fox can sleep in Bill or Charlie's old bedroom and bid them both goodnight before going to my own room, where I know it will be more than difficult to fall back to sleep.   
  
TO BE CONTINUED.... 


End file.
